


Ain't that the worst thing

by Storybelle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, I'm not kidding, M/M, Mystery, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Someone's up to no good, Teacher!Harry, it's slow, teacher!Draco
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:01:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25935589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Storybelle/pseuds/Storybelle
Summary: “What persuaded you to apply for this position, Mr. Potter?” Professor McGonagall looks at Harry over her large, intimidating desk, so reminding him of his first year at Hogwarts that he swallows nervously. He loves her dearly, as his former teacher and a friend, but right now her expression is firmly set on ‘no nonsense headmistress’ and he has to remind himself that he is not an eleven year old who snuck out of bed at night but a man of nearly twenty-five who is applying for a job.“Well, obviously I’m passionate about Defense against the Dark Arts,” Harry says and immediately hates the words as they come out of his mouth. Conscripted into a war at eleven doesn’t exactly translate into ‘passionate.’ “Uh, I mean to say that one of the most inspiring teachers I ever had was for DADA. Re-...Professor Lupin’s lessons were always well taught and interesting and he made time for students if they had a problem or were struggling.” Without meaning to, his mind flashes back to sitting in Remus’ office, drinking tea and talking. He’d never had a teacher like that before. Like they were friends. Like his opinion meant something.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley - Relationship
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23





	1. Are we out of the woods yet?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Empress_of_Fools](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Empress_of_Fools/gifts).



> This is my take on Harry after the war, because he should have been a teacher and I will not be told otherwise.
> 
> This is also for Andrea, because she found out I wanted to write a teacher Drarry and did not rest until I had plotted the whole thing.

“What persuaded you to apply for this position, Mr Potter?” Professor McGonagall looks at Harry over her large, intimidating desk, so reminding him of his first year at Hogwarts that he swallows nervously. He loves her dearly, as his former teacher and a friend, but right now her expression is firmly set on ‘no nonsense headmistress’ and he has to remind himself that he is not an eleven year old who snuck out of bed at night but a man of nearly twenty-five who is applying for a job.

“Well, obviously I’m passionate about Defense against the Dark Arts,” Harry says and immediately hates the words as they come out of his mouth. Conscripted into a war at eleven doesn’t exactly translate into ‘passionate.’ “Uh, I mean to say that one of the most inspiring teachers I ever had was for DADA. Re-...Professor Lupin’s lessons were always well taught and interesting and he made time for students if they had a problem or were struggling.” Without meaning to, his mind flashes back to sitting in Remus’ office, drinking tea and talking. He’d never had a teacher like that before. Like they were friends. Like his opinion meant something. 

“I guess I’m saying that I’d like to make a difference like that in someone’s life,” Harry finishes, hoping he’s getting his message across. Applying for the position was always a risk. McGonagall wasn’t going to be one of those to give him what he wanted just because he’s Harry Potter. With a pang, he thinks that maybe she won’t give him the job because he’s Harry Potter. 

“Why did you decide against becoming an auror?” McGonagall asks curiously, eyes gentle behind her glasses. Surely she already knows the answer - or at least can guess at it - but she’s giving him a chance to be truthful. 

“Because I’ve had enough of fighting,” Harry says, honestly. And that right there is the core of everything. That’s all he’s done his entire life - fighting to survive, fighting Voldemort - and he’s sick to the back teeth of it. He’d left school with his excellent NEWTs scores and when faced with the offer for the ministry, hadn’t been able to stifle the panic in his belly. The letter had been shoved in the bread-bin and abandoned. Every time he’d tried to look at it, he’d broken out in sweats. He lay awake at night and when he did sleep, he dreamt of flashes of green light and endless screaming. The thought of late nights stakeouts and cruelty and flying curses...being an auror wasn’t too different from his year hiding out with Ron and Hermione. And it had taken a lot of time for him to realise that it wasn’t what he wanted anymore.

“Mate, it’s alright if you don’t want to do this,” Ron had said, brow creased with concern. 

“Harry, do you think that maybe it’s alright for you to take a break, just for once?” was Hermione’s contribution after she’d found the scrunched up letter shoved behind a loaf of Hovis.

“You’re an idiot,” Ginny had said ruthlessly, plying him with Molly’s homemade biscuits. “Why are you forcing yourself to do something you don’t want to do?”

So he hadn’t. And the day he’d sent an owl back, turning down their offer had been the day he’d finally slept all through the night.

“It’s all I’ve ever done,” Harry continues. He fiddles nervously with the sleeve of his smart robes. He’s aware that he’s being a lot more open with his former teacher than he would normally be in an interview. But after all they’ve been through, he reckons that she deserves it. “And I decided that I wanted the chance to do something else for a change.”

“Which you certainly have done,” McGonagall says, with a carefully raised eyebrow. ”Charity and travel, public appearances...several temporary jobs. You worked in Mr Weasley’s shop for a while, didn’t you?” Harry’s ears burn as he meets her gaze. 

“I did,” he says. He’s worrying at his sleeve so much he’s probably fraying it. Molly won’t be happy if he goes to her with holes in his best robes. “George offered me one during a slow patch. I don’t like sitting around. He said as I was an investor, I should maybe put some work in.”

“And you didn’t choose to stay at any of these enterprises because?” McGonagall pushes, looking at him over her glasses. Harry has the unnerving feeling that she’s looking for something. Some answer that will let her know whether he deserves this job or not.

“Because…” Harry says and then pauses, looking for the right words. He could probably spend the rest of his life without a steady job, Merlin knows he has the money. But he hadn’t wanted that. He’d had a brief vacation and then flung himself into whatever he could find. Volunteering at St. Mungo’s, doing research for Hermione about rehabilitation in wizarding London, even baking with Molly...he took on every task, trying as many things as he could, feeling like he had to make up for the time he’d lost. He’d enjoyed many of them and they all made him feel like he was doing something worthwhile.

But the problem was, none of them were right for him.

“Because they weren’t where I was meant to be,” Harry says firmly. “Ron was always meant to be an auror. He’s a strategist, he’s brilliant at it. And Hermione is clever and determined to make a difference to the laws we have, so she was easy too. All of my friends had a calling, somewhere they were meant to be when they left school. All of them,” he says, thinking of George making the world laugh and Ginny making a name for herself at Quidditch and Neville going to do research on magical plants.

“Turns out I’d always been where I was meant to be,” he says, finally turning his eyes to his right where he knows the portrait of Dumbledore is watching. As he suspected, the old man was watching him carefully from the frame. He’d tried his best when he’d set foot in the door to not look at his former Headmaster. But he did what Dumbledore wanted him to do. The rest of his life is up to him. “It took me a little while to realise it but I want to be what Lupin was. A teacher. A good one.”

McGonagall tilts her head slightly and then sighs heavily. 

“Thank you, Potter, that will be all,” she says crisply, tapping her wand on the piece of paper in front of her so that it curls up and turns black, finally vanishing into a wisp of smoke. Harry feels dread curling in his stomach. They’ve barely been here ten minutes. He hasn’t had a great many interviews but he feels like that’s not how it’s supposed to go. Surely he can’t have failed that badly?

But McGonagall is pulling herself up from her chair, rising elegantly. She collects her wand and stows it away up her sleeve before gesturing to Harry.

“If you’d like to follow me please?” she asks and feeling cowed, Harry obeys. He takes one last look at Dumbledore’s portrait and wonders if maybe he really has let his former mentor down. Sure, he defeated Voldemort and saved the Wizarding World but it looks like the world outside of school is a different matter.

He follows McGonagall down the stairs and through a corridor to the grand staircase. Hogwarts is silent, it being the summer holidays and the only creature they see is Mrs Norris, quietly licking her paws. She watches them cross the quad balefully, golden eyes never moving until they’ve vanished through the archway.

He thinks at first that maybe they’re going to the Gryffindor tower but they don’t make the turn for the staircase. Instead, they wind through the corridors to a very familiar room.

The Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom hasn’t changed much since Harry’s time here, five years ago. The dragon skeleton hasn’t moved from its place on the ceiling, overlooking the neatly arranged tables and chairs. The previous teacher must have removed most of the personal effects as the walls and surfaces are mostly bare, leaving it a blank slate for the incoming teacher. With the professor changing every year, Harry had seen everything from magical creature posters to all of those large smiling portraits of Lockhart. 

“Well?” McGonagall asks expectantly. Harry looks at her in confusion. He’s not entirely sure of what she’s asking. 

“There’s an office to the back, up those stairs,” she says, gesturing. “Although I’m certain you already know that. And the quarters are attached to the office. They’re not much but they’re comfy enough. Private bathroom, small kitchen should you not feel like coming to the great hall. They’ve been left empty a while so I expect they could all use a good, hard clean,” McGonagall says, with a delicate wrinkle of her nose. Harry stares at her, open mouthed.

“Sorry, Professor,” he says. “But do you mean to say...I’ve got the job?” McGonagall’s mouth splits into a rare smile. 

“I do mean to say,” she confirms. “Honestly, Potter, I’ve known you since you were a boy. I know what kind of person you are and what you stand for. I think Hogwarts could use someone like you. And besides, you had excellent marks when you had a...competent teacher.” Again her nose wrinkles in disgust, no doubt remembering the likes of Lockhart, Umbridge and Quirrell. “And no one here would doubt your real world credentials. Over all, you have a good knowledge of dark creatures, curses and potions, as well as their practical use and counterspells. I think the students will be lucky to have you.” Buoyed by her praise, Harry returns her smile.

He’s done it. He’s the new DADA teacher. Hogwarts is his home again. Although, he backtracks slightly, he will have to make a stop to Grimmauld Place to pack and make arrangements. And clean, if McGonagall’s description of his new quarters is accurate. And he has to tell his friends...He’s not supposed to see Ron and Hermione until Friday but can he wait that long to tell them?

Harry exhales and turns again to look at the classroom, his mind ticking over with ways to make it his. More books, he thinks, and some informative posters on the walls. He wants to rearrange the desks, so they can easily be pushed back for a space to practice wandwork in. Maybe he can even get a grindylow for his office, like Lupin had.

“I’ll make you proud,” he promises, and he could be talking to McGonagall, Lupin or even Dumbledore. He wonders briefly about the Snape portrait up in the Headmistress’ office, yet another DADA teacher that passed through these halls, cursed to only hold the position for a year.

“Uh, Professor?” he asks, frozen by a sudden thought. “Why did the previous teacher leave?”

“Minerva will do just fine now that we’re going to be colleagues,” she chides him gently before clicking her tongue. Clearly she can see his train of thought. “And Professor Sinclair left because her husband is an American Wizard. They've returned to his native country and as she held the position from Hogwarts’ rebuilding to now, there is no need to worry about that curse, Mr Potter!” Harry grins, no longer as scared of her as he was sitting across from her in her office.

“Just wondering, Professor. Minerva,” he corrects himself, the name not quite falling off his tongue. Still, he’ll get there. 

“We expect all teachers to arrive a week before the beginning of the school year,” Minerva says briskly. “To set up classrooms, have lesson plans prepared and be there to assist with the incoming students. Will that be quite alright with you?” Her tone suggests that any other answer than a positive is not acceptable but Harry has no problem with that. The last week of August is a little over four weeks away. Four weeks until he’s back in the first place he truly called home. Until he’ll be known as Professor Potter.

“That’ll be just fine,” he says.

* * *

“Harry, this is really great,” Hermione says admiringly, as she slides another of his brand new textbooks onto the shelf. Harry just beams at her, too delighted to say anything. 

The last four weeks have been a whirlwind. Harry has barely stopped since he’d arrived back at Grimmauld Place after his interview. But it’s been worth it, Harry thinks as he looks around the classroom. This is all his now.

Sometimes it still doesn’t feel real. He’s certain that he’s going to pinch himself and wake up at an auror’s desk, slumped over paperwork and utterly miserable. Or even back at Grimmauld Place, trying yet again to figure out where he’s meant to be. But instead he’s here, with his friends, making the final adjustments to his new classroom. His birthday had passed by in the chaos, celebrated only by a small dinner at Ron and Hermione’s. Hermione predictably bought him a planner for the new school year. Ron just bought him Firewhiskey. ‘In case the little shits drive you to drink,’ he’d said before Hermione returned with the cake.

“More books,” Ron groans, stumbling in the door, carrying yet another box. “How many do you need?”

“I may have gone a bit mad,” Harry admits sheepishly. “But they had so many I’d never read and I wanted to cover all of the bases, you know? Dark creatures and spells and potions…” Ron dumps the box down by Hermione, who doesn’t waste a moment breaking into it and pulling out the first book she sees.

“Dark Curses and Protections in Wizarding Ancient Egypt,” she reads out, before flicking open to the first page. “Can I borrow this?”

Ron not so discreetly rolls his eyes. “I’ll go get another box. Try to keep her from bringing all of your reference books home, okay?” 

“I’ll try,” Harry says, not entirely confident in his ability to keep Hermione from something she wants to read. Filling the shelves wouldn’t have taken her so long if she didn’t keep stopping to investigate every book. However, at least she is doing something. He appears to have lost half of his unpacking team. Ginny went to fetch another box twenty minutes ago and hasn’t returned, and Luna is lost back in his private quarters. He just hopes she’s not trying to set up protections against nargles or something. “Where the hell did Ginny get to?”

Ron shrugs. “Skiving off from lifting the heaviest boxes?” he suggests, halfway out of the door.

“I’d believe if it Ginny weren’t stronger than you,” Hermione counters, not even bothering to look up at her boyfriend. Harry suppresses a smirk at Ron’s scowl, although he doesn’t counter it. All that Quidditch training has made Ginny incredibly strong.

“Seriously though, where is she?” Harry asks, putting down the posters he had been holding and heading towards the back of the classroom. Maybe she’s been in his new living quarters, filling the cupboards with tea bags and Molly’s good biscuits. Molly had somehow managed to get him to accept a box filled to the brim with food, somehow under the belief that he would forget to feed himself. He thinks she’s exaggerating a little bit but is still grateful. This week promises to be full on, starting with meeting his fellow teachers and ending with the arrival of thousands of new students. Students he has to teach and inspire and discipline. He hasn’t told anyone but that’s the part he’s most terrified of. At the end of the day, they outnumber him and he has his own memories of the teachers he disliked, mistrusted and outright hated. He wants to be like Lupin. He can even deal with being like Moody, minus the whole ‘Death Eater in disguise’ issue. So long as he tries to do everything that Umbridge wouldn’t do, he figures he’ll be okay.

Which is fine in theory. In practice, he’s still terrified.

His new living quarters reveal nothing other than Luna in his new kitchen, carefully stacking tins by colour. She has an intense look of concentration on her face as she decides whether to stack the pineapple or sweetcorn first. Having his food in a particular order isn’t of vital importance to him but it seems to make her happy. 

“Have you seen Ginny?” he asks and she looks up, startled. Her new earrings - tiny planets - spin in place with the sudden movement. 

“Not recently,” she says, pink lipsticked mouth twisting in a frown. “She was here, unpacking your clothes but I haven’t seen her for a while. I think she went to get another suitcase?”

“Okay,” Harry says. “Thanks, Luna.” He heads back, through the office and down the stairs, where Hermione has her head buried in yet another book. Presumably Ginny got waylaid on her way back. The floo in his office was temporarily taken offline, as his predecessor apparently hadn’t liked having one so close to her living quarters. Unfortunately, this meant bringing everything through to the Transfiguration classroom. It was the closest option they had but it didn’t feel like it when they had to move stacks of boxes and furniture through the corridors. Luckily, the Transfiguration teacher hasn’t arrived yet, so at least they’re not disturbing anyone. 

“I’m going to get another box,” he says to Hermione, who only nods distantly. He suspects that she hasn’t actually heard a word he said. He also suspects he’s not getting that copy of ‘A complete guide to Lethifolds’ back.

He heads out of the classroom and swings a right down the corridor. It’s a fairly straight shot past the courtyard to the Transfiguration classrooms. Profess….Minerva no longer teaches so he doesn’t know who teaches there now. He knows a good few of the staff from his time at Hogwarts have moved on, mostly to retire or to pursue other interests. He hopes that a few of the newer teachers will be in the same boat that he is and be more amenable to making friends. 

The Transfiguration door is open but the room only contains Ron, shifting boxes about. The room is considerably fuller than the last time Harry was here so presumably George has sent more through from the other end of the Floo.

“I didn’t know I owned this much stuff,” Harry says, uncertainly and neatly sidestepping a potted plant. Ron grunts and heaves a heavy box out of the fireplace as it flares a bright green.

“Maybe it didn’t look all that much in Grimmauld Place,” he says. “Also you bought tons of crap when you got this job.”

“It’s not crap,” Harry says in amusement, slightly protective of his new teaching equipment. Maybe he did buy more than he needed but he wanted to be sure he had everything. He’s had a vision of what his classroom would look like since the moment he applied for the job. “I need that stuff.” Ron gives him a stern look, that’s slightly ruined by the pink flush of exertion on his face.

“And you absolutely weren’t going overboard at any point,” he says dryly. “Is the fetal pig absolutely necessary?”

“Maybe not,” Harry says defensively. “I just thought it looked cool.”

“Well, I will give you that one,” Ron says with a grin. “It is pretty cool. Hermione would never let me have one in the house.”

“She would not,” Harry agrees. It’s a testament to their love that Hermione allows so much Chudley Cannons merchandise to clutter up their London apartment but he thinks it won’t allow for a dead pig. “Hey, have you seen Ginny? Luna said she came to get another suitcase and she’s pretty much vanished.”

“No, she wasn’t in here when I came in,” Ron says, straightening up with a groan. “But with Ginny who knows where she might have got to. Maybe she’s off meeting your new colleagues.”

“She’s been gone a while,” Harry notes. “Although it sounds about right that she’d make friends with my colleagues quicker than I can.” Because that was how it had always been. Fun-loving Ginny had no trouble settling in with new people. After a few days with her new Quidditch team, she had them all over for margaritas and karaoke. But years of being in the limelight and endless discussion of ‘what is Harry Potter up to now?’ has made Harry suspicious of new people. 

“You share a castle with your new co-workers,” chides a voice behind them. “You should actually try and get to know them.” Ginny stands in the doorway, arms folded across her chest. Her dungarees bear dust on both the knees and she has an old flashing Holyhead Harpies badge pinned to her chest. 

“Where have you been?” Harry asks curiously. Ginny merely flicks a strand of red hair over her shoulder, unbothered.

“I went to the kitchens to ask if they could bring us some drinks. And yes, I asked for food as well,” she adds, catching sight of Ron’s hopeful face. “I think mum has raised your expectations too high of having food available at all times. Hermione isn’t going to stand for that.”

“It took you a long time,” Ron points out. “We wondered if a staircase had devoured you whole or something.”

Ginny quite sensibly ignores him, while Harry mouths ‘that doesn’t even make any sense!’ at him over her head.

“Get another box, Ron, and stop complaining. I just...ran into someone. That’s all,” she says, with a casual shrug. She easily heaves a bag over her shoulder and scoops up a small box into her arms. 

“Someone?” Harry and Ron say at once. It’s not like Ginny to be so cagey.

“Just someone I wanted to talk to,” she says and it’s clear from the set of her jaw that she’s not willing to give anymore details. She vanishes out of the door with her load, in a whirlwind of red hair and disdain.

“Shit. What’s with her?” Ron says, looking equally stunned at Ginny’s unusual attitude. Ginny is many things: a flirt, wild, occasionally brutal with her teasing...but never distant. Something has rattled her. Something that she’s not willing to share.

“Couldn’t say,” Harry says, bending to pick up a box and then abandoning it when it’s also labelled ‘Books.’ Fuck, how many did he buy? Another box that has ‘shoes’ scribbled on in Sharpie looks preferable. He envies Ginny’s strength, naturally built up from training and clinging onto a broom in all weather. He misses playing Quidditch, not getting many chances and even less to have a proper game. These days it’s just a case of messing around on brooms in the Weasley’s garden after Sunday lunch, and no one puts in much effort after being too full of Molly’s roast lamb. It’s fun and chaotic and ends with them drinking hot chocolate on the lawn in an exhausted heap but somehow it’s not the same as the rush of an actual game. He can watch the games here, he realises with a jolt of excitement. Of course, he always could before, no one was going to dissuade Harry Potter in the stands watching his old house play but he can have that full experience again as a teacher. 

“So...uh,” Ron starts and Harry can see the tips of his ears go red, which usually means that Ronis trying to bring up an uncomfortable topic. “You and her haven’t talked recently?”

“Talked?” Harry says, feigning ignorance and not as though he and Ron have had this conversation about six times over the last year. Without fail, it comes around every few months, usually after Harry and Ginny have been getting along especially well or fall back into their natural banter. He’s not entirely sure why Ron would bring it up now.

“Yeah. About…” Ron pauses, looking for the right words and dawdling by looking for a box, despite the fact that the floor is littered with them. He clearly doesn’t want to have this conversation where they can be overheard, especially as Hermione would probably just tell him off again. “Well, about you two,” he finishes awkwardly.

Harry shifts the box in his arms with a groan and briefly debates putting it down again. “Why would we talk about us? And what about her being prickly just now suggests that we have?”

“Just that maybe she meant ‘someone’ when she said someone,” Ron explains sheepishly. “There’s other teachers here, maybe people our age. She might have bumped into someone and not wanted to say that she got distracted flirting.” Harry gives a huff of laughter and drops the box back down. Clearly they’re not going anywhere.

“Ron, we broke up over a year ago,” he points out. “Ages ago. We’re good friends now, and we’ve been on dates with other people. I think we both know that eventually we’re gonna meet someone else.” Ron looks deflated. Despite his reservations when Harry and Ginny first got together, Harry thinks that Ron probably liked the idea of his best friend becoming a permanent member of the family. Harry had liked it too. But it hadn’t worked out that way.

“But you got on so well together,” Ron says mournfully. 

“We still do,” Harry says defensively, and quite rightly because fuck, did they work at it. Their break up had been pretty mutual but even so, Harry had had to stay away from the Burrow and lunches for a while. They hadn’t been able or ready to see each other for a few months and Harry had missed her. They weren’t meant for each other but she was still one of his best friends. Finally being able to be in the same room as each other was a relief, as though a limb he’d been missing had returned.

“I know,” Ron says. “I just thought…”

“No,” Harry says, shaking his head. He’s a little bemused. He’d thought that after he’d dated that Irish witch for a few months that Ron would be past this. “Ginny’s free to date who she likes. Although one of my new colleagues might be a bit weird,” he amends. “We’re used to the idea of dating other people, I’m not sure either of us want it right in front of us.”

Ron nods and hopefully that seems to be the end of this round of ‘Why don’t you and Ginny get back together?’ But there’s still the matter of boxes and boxes littering some poor Transfiguration teacher’s office.

“Do you think we can levitate all of this instead?” Ron says, wrinkling his nose.

* * *

They stop for lunch amidst the collection of boxes and loose cardboard and assorted lamps that litter the half finished classroom. They don’t bother with the countless chairs that are lying around, instead pulling out a blanket from Harry’s luggage and laying it on the ground. They eat sandwiches and scotch eggs and mini eclairs, as though they are sixteen again and not people in their twenties, with budding careers and home lives.

“That cheddar is to die for,” Ron swoons, as he manages to fit a slice and half a pork pie into his mouth at once. Ginny wrinkles her nose.

“If you chew with your mouth open, that can be arranged!” she threatens and Ron hurriedly clamps his mouth shut. Harry hides his smile behind a sausage roll but honestly, he agrees with Ron. He’d forgotten how good Hogwarts food is. There are even miniature treacle tarts.

“You’d think you’d be used to it by now,” Harry says instead. 

“Used to it, yes. It’s still gross,” Ginny says, folding a slab of cheddar and chutney inbetween a piece of crusty bread. She seems to have cooled since earlier, although she’s still not willing to discuss who she ran into on her way to the kitchens. When the house elves turned up with their lunch, he caught her looking at him with a strange, worried expression, but it was gone when she pulled out her wand to shift the tables and chairs back. 

It would be entirely stupid and presumptous to think that after all this time that she’s having a change of heart. They have dated other people, but sparsely. Harry went on two blind dates - both disastrous - but at the beginning of this year he did manage a few months with Siobhan, a healer at St. Mungo’s. She was perfectly lovely but it just fizzled out. They didn’t have enough in common to keep going.

Ginny, on the other hand, appears to have dated much more frequently. With her job and naturally outgoing personality, she meets far more people. Harry only met Siobhan because he turned up at St. Mungo’s needing his wrist to be reset, after a particularly icy winter morning and his front steps. Ginny gets invited to parties and outings and Quidditch matches that she’s not even playing in. However, it’s either worrying or comforting that she also hasn't had a significant relationship since they split. 

He doesn’t think that he wants to get back together with Ginny. They get on well together and he is the first to admit that she’s beautiful- even now, in her dungarees with dust on the knees and a dot of chutney on her lip. Their relationship had been fun and easy, it was just…

Harry frowns. Even now he’s not sure how to explain why their relationship fell apart. It was just missing...something.

“I miss Neville,” Luna says distantly, looking at a tomato as though it holds all the answers. She’s been a little quiet today. Harry isn’t surprised that them all being together would make her miss Neville. While she gets on very well with all of them, she and Neville have always been close, two gentle souls together.

“I know, Luna,” Harry says, patting her knee. “We do too. It’s not quite right without him here.”

“I’d say he doesn’t know what he’s missing out on, but he’s probably happy as a pig in shit, in some rainforest, collecting specimens,” Ron says bluntly. Hermione rolls her eyes.

“That’s a lovely turn of phrase, Ronald,” she says primly. “But you’re probably right. He loves magical flora as much as….well, Ginny loves Quidditch or…”

“Ron loves bacon?” Harry suggests. Ron makes a face before considering it.

“I do love bacon,” he admits, eyes flickering over the diminished spread in front of them. “This is definitely missing some bacon. ‘Mione, do you think-?”

“No,” Hermione, Harry and Ginny all chorus. There's a considerable attempt on their part to reduce Ron’s intake of bacon, out of fear he might not live to see forty otherwise.

Ron wrinkles his nose, looking put out. “Fine,” he sighs. “No bacon.”

Harry watches his friends eat, feeling terribly fond of them. He spent so long without family that sometimes it feels strange to count all of the people who love him. People drift after school,he knows that much, and while there are friends he doesn’t see or talk to often, he’s grateful that didn’t happen to these few people. He can’t live without seeing Hermione and Ron on Friday nights or Ginny talking about her latest matches at Sunday lunch or Luna sending him a batch of her latest strange baking creations. He has letters on his corkboard from Neville, detailing the beautiful wild flowers he’s found on his research trip. Postcards from Seamus and Dean in Ireland and boxes of new products from George arriving in the post.

“Are you alright, Harry?” Hermione asks, catching sight of his face as she refills their drinks.

“Just happy,” Harry says, holding out his own goblet. All of those pork pies have made him thirsty. 

“We should have a toast,” Ron insists, holding up his now full goblet and, bemused, they all scramble to do the same. He clears his throat, all ceremony. The regl air clashes with his bright Holyhead Harpies t-shirt.

“To us - and Neville. May things only get better from here, whether our futures lie in sports, politics, government, magical flora or fauna or moulding young minds. Please try to not fuck that last one up, Harry.” Harry makes a face of mock outrage.

“So long as you're not Umbridge, you’re fine,” Ginny advises him, echoing his earlier concern back at him.

“Or Quirrell.”

“Definitely not Lockhart!” Ron mutters with some distaste. 

“Or Snape!” Luna finishes, looking horrified.

“Christ,” Ron says, horror dawning on his face. “It’s a miracle we got a good education. Did they not have very good hiring procedures when Dumbledore was alive?”

“I still reckon that he met Lockhart and just thought it would be a good laugh,” Ginny says, darkly.

“Knowing him, that’s probably horrifically true,” Harry says, draining the last of his pumpkin juice.  
“I swear to be better than the terrible teachers we had at school. Acceptable?”

“You’re going to be brilliant, Harry,” Luna says softly. Harry pats her hand, touched by her certainty. His friends responded to the news with overwhelming joy, all absolutely sure that Harry is where he’s meant to be. But that doesn’t stop the fear that creeps up Harry’s spine every so often. And tonight he meets some of his new colleagues for the very first time.

“Merlin, I hope so,” he says and swipes the last eclair out from under Ron’s nose.

* * *

Harry attempts to smooth his hair yet again before finally admitting defeat. He’s going to have to meet his new colleagues with wild hair. Start as you mean to go on, he supposes. He’s pretty sure he’s had messy hair all his life and it’s not about to change.

He takes one final look at himself in the mirror and hopes dearly that he’s going to make a good first impression. Aside from the hair, he doesn’t look half bad. New robes, new glasses, neatly shaved...he almost looks like a professor.

‘I am a professor,’ he thinks to himself, as though it might stick. “Professor Potter.’

Nope. Still weird. With a sigh, he stashes his wand in his robes and turns away from the mirror. Dinner will start soon and he doesn’t want to be late. Minerva had stressed the importance of this night, when all of the teachers have dinner in the Great Hall and meet each other for the first time. There are several new teachers this year, so he won’t be alone, but it’s daunting that most of the present faculty already know each other. He won’t even have the advantage of recognising a lot of them from his own time here. Quite a few retired after the war, so many so that it worries him he’ll only have Professor Binns to chat to. He hopes dearly it won’t come to that or he’ll die in the middle of dinner out of boredom and join the ranks of ghosts.

His friends had left him a few hours earlier, Hermione and Ron first (Hermione leaving with at least six books and he’s only lucky that she didn’t take more.) They both have work the next day and after giving up their whole Sunday, he doesn’t blame them for wanting an evening to themselves. And when Luna made signs of wanting to leave, Ginny did too. It hurts a little but he wonders if she’s that uncomfortable with being alone with him. They never have before, always surrounded by family or friends or her Quidditch teammates when they’re together. 

She’d paused right before she’d followed Luna out of the door, looking as though she was on the brink of saying something. In the end, she’d merely hugged him and vanished, to the Transfiguration classroom so she could floo to the Burrow, before apparating back to her flat. It had left Harry feeling confused and a little lonely. 

“We’re not getting back together,” Harry mutters, under his breath, in a strange fierce mantra. “We’re not. And I’m not going to cave because I have a new job and it’s scary and I’m away from my friends.”

Speaking of which...he really should leave. He checks his appearance, yet again, even though it can’t possibly have changed in the last few minutes and steps out of his bedroom. His living room/kitchen are fairly organised, thanks to Luna. His office will need some work before the students arrive and Hermione and Ron worked like ogres setting up his new classroom, but somehow his bedroom has been neglected. There’s only so much you can do in one day and so long as his bed has fresh sheets, he can deal with the mess. It’s not like anyone is going to see that room. If ever. 

It has occurred to him that he may meet someone here. But if it didn’t work and they broke up, sharing a castle might be hard. Maybe best to not get involved with co-workers. 

But he’s never going to find out if he doesn’t just fucking go. 

His stomach is churning with nerves as he steps into the Great Hall. It seems strange to walk in and it not be filled to the brim with children, eating and filling the hall with noise. Instead there’s a small group of distinguished adults clustered near the top table and Harry has to find his nerve, before he walks down to meet them.

Hagrid is the first to see him, face crinkling with joy. Harry had raced out of the castle down to Hagrid’s hut not long after his interview had ended, so Hagrid was the first person to officially hear of the news. It felt right - after all, Hagrid was the one to bring him to Hogwarts all those years ago. 

“Harry!” he booms, delighted and pats Harry on the shoulder. “Good to see you.” Harry takes the ‘pat’ with the tiniest wince. Hagrid still doesn’t quite know his own strength. 

“Am I late?” Harry asks but Hagrid shakes his head.

“Not at all. We’re still waiting on some teachers, especially the new ones like you. Merlin, Minerva’s not even here yet!”

“That doesn’t sound like her,” Harry says, letting Hagrid draw him closer to the cluster of witches and wizards at the far end of the hall. Now that he’s closer, Harry can see several familiar faces and a flood of relief sweeps through him. “I’d expect her to be first.”

“Ah, she’s a busy lady,” Hagrid rumbles. “Don’t know what we’d do without her. She doesn’t teach anymore, did yeh know?”

“I think so,” Harry says. Weird. He’d have expected Minerva to be the first here. Even weirder will be meeting her replacement. He certainly wouldn’t like to have applied for that role. It was scary enough applying for a different subject. Minerva has high standards, especially when it came to her lessons. She wouldn’t expect anything less than perfect from her replacement.

Several of his former professors are first to come up to greet him. Flitwick beams with delight from behind his beard.

“Happy to have you here, Harry!” Flitwick enthuses, as Harry bends to shake his hand. “Wonderful to have some young blood!”

“Speak for yourself,” grumbles Hooch but her eyes are warm when she shakes his hand. “I expect you’ll take an interest in Quidditch, hey, Potter?”

“You’ve no idea,” Harry agrees, with a grin. “ I’ll be at every match I can get to.”

“I’d expect nothing less from one of our best seekers,” she says, taking a step back for Madam Pomfrey to take her turn. 

“Of course, we’ll be Filius, Rolanda and Poppy to you now,” Madam Pomfrey says. “It might take some getting used to. Just please, turn up less in the hospital wing than you did in school.”

“I had good reasons for those,” Harry says defensively. “Dementors and willows and...well, Lockhart.” Poppy rolls her eyes good-naturedly.

“Well, I will give you that last one,” she admits. Rolanda’s hawk-like eyes narrow sharply.

“That Lockhart was a complete fool,” she says contemptuously. “As if I’ve never had broken bones on my Quidditch pitch before!” Poppy pats her arm.

“I believe you never had the joy of being taught by these good people,” she says to Harry, gesturing to the people behind them. Harry turns his attention to the crowd of witches he vaguely recognises from his school days.

“Aurora Sinistra - Astrology.” This is the dark skinned witch, with high cheekbones and a copper coloured hat. “Bathsheda Babbling - Ancient Runes.” This is an older witch, with sharp eyes and greying hair pulled back in a tight bun. And Septima Vector - Arithmancy.” This is a dark haired witch in ruby robes. All three smile and shake his hand.

“Hopefully, I’ll get to know all three of you better,” Harry promises, as he leaves them to resume their conversations. There’s something of a clatter as a young witch in bright aquamarine robes hurries down the Great Hall. Harry doesn’t recognise her and judging from the panic on her face, she’s also new.

“I’m not late, am I?” she asks, heart-shaped face flushed with red. She must have dashed all the way here.

“Not at all,” Poppy assures her. “Harry here has only just arrived as well.” The witch smooths back her thick blonde curls, wild from her race across the castle and beams.

“Thank Merlin,” she proclaims. “That wouldn’t be a good first impression. I’m Harper Scott. I’ll be teaching Muggle Studies.” Harry takes her hand when she offers it.

“Harry,” he says, deliberately missing out his surname. “I’ve just started too. Defense Against The Dark Arts.”

It’s as Harper is introducing herself to the others that another witch arrives. This one sweeps in gracefully, in robes of deep scarlet that flatters her golden brown complexion and matches the lipstick she wears. She pauses, lingering on the edges of the group, not as willing to insert herself as Harper had. But the Arithmancy professor notices her hesitation and steps forward.

“Stella!” Septima says warmly, placing a hand on the new witch’s shoulder and pulling her into the circle. “Harry, Harper, this is Stella Imago. She teaches Divination.” Stella nods coolly at them, her dark eyes appraising the new additions. She appears to be a young woman in her thirties, her long dark hair pulled back into a professional, complicated plait. She’s a far cry from the Divination teachers that Harry is used to. 

“Nice to meet you,” Harry says, offering her his hand. After a beat, she takes it.

“And you,” she says and Harry is surprised by the subtle French accent in her voice. 

“We’re still waiting on quite a few people, aren’t we?” Aurora says, with a frown. “It’s very unlike the Headmistress to be so late.”

But as soon as she’s finished speaking the doors open, revealing Minerva. She looks harried, mouth set in a small, thin line.

“Are we all here?” she says, when she arrives at the group. As one, it seems the assembled company decide to not comment on her crooked hat or the lines in her forehead. “Should we take our seats?”

Septima is the one who speaks up. “We’re missing several teachers, Minerva. Are they not coming?” Because they are indeed, several staff members short. Looking around, Harry tries to work out what teachers might be missing. The new Transfiguration teacher, that’s for sure, and as Professor Sprout retired, there must be a new Herbology teacher. 

“I’m afraid that our new Alchemy teacher is unwell and won’t be joining us,” Minerva announces. “Our Herbology professor is on route from his research trip and will arrive later in the week. And I’m afraid Jasper has been held up with family business.”

“What about the Potions professor?” Harry asks, the words slipping out before he can stop them.

“He has declined to join us this evening,” Minerva says, mouth pursed with displeasure. She strides past them up to the table. “Now, shall we begin our meal? I see no reason to delay it any further.”

“Yikes,” Harper mutters, under her breath. “Who do you think pissed her off?”

“Not sure,” Harry says, as the group begins to take their own seats, quietly chatting to themselves. Minerva is at the Headmistress’ chair, back ramrod straight, even though her eyes are distant and unfocused. She may be here in body but Harry suspects her mind is elsewhere. Whatever happened while she was out of the room has rattled her. “Braver person than me, though.”

She giggles, although Harry suspects it’s half out of nerves than anything else. It’s something of a relief to know he’s not the only one to find all of this intimidating. Stella has drifted by to take her seat at the table, as cool as a cucumber, and is now chatting calmly with Aurora.

“She is a bit scary, isn’t she?” Harper agrees. “I thought I’d have grown out of that. I haven’t been taught by her in nearly thirteen years and yet somehow one look turns me back into a quivering first year!” 

They climb the steps of the platform to the top table, and look for their seats. To his relief, the seats were marked with tiny, golden placards, so he doesn’t have to worry about sitting in someone else’s seat. The DADA card was marked with a silver Patronus emerging from a wand. Harper’s is labelled as Muggle Studies by a drawing of a muggle telephone. To his right, the card bears a bubbling cauldron. So he’s sitting next to the less-than-social Potions professor. Fun.

“You went here?” Harry asks, tearing his attention away from the place settings “I’m sorry, I didn’t recognise you.” She grins, looking slightly mischievous. 

“You wouldn’t,” she agrees. “I was long gone from Hogwarts when you arrived. I’m actually thirty-four.” Harry blinks at her in surprise. She’s actually older than he suspected. The blonde curls and youthful face had led him to believe that she was his age, not nearly ten years older.

“I know, I get that look a lot,” she says, smoothing down a strand of golden hair. “I suppose I play it up a lot.” It certainly explains her fashionable robes and neat makeup. 

“Handy,” Harry comments. Their conversation is cut short by Minerva clapping her hands together and rising from her golden chair.

“I’d like to say a few words before we begin,” she says, looking from one end of the table, where Hagrid sits, to the other. Her eyes rest on each teacher briefly and Harry is somewhat reminded of when Dumbledore had that chair and it always felt like he was speaking directly to you. 

“This is a year of great changes. This is the most significant shift in staff that we have seen since the end of the war. I am delighted to have new blood in the faculty, both from other schools and previous students. I guarantee that if you give all you have to Hogwarts, you will gain everything back and more. I myself became a teacher here not long after leaving as a pupil and it has given me family, a home and a purpose.” Minerva looks a little distant, no doubt remembering her time as a young witch. Harry wonders if she was as scared as he was when she’d first arrived. 

“Hogwarts has not always had an easy time. You all know the difficulties we’ve faced. Even in the darkest times, Hogwarts has stood together against all odds. And I hope that no matter what trials and struggles we face this year, that we can face them together. The past is the past. It’s time to face our future.” 

The plates fill with food and there’s a clamour of noise as people chatter and scrape serving spoons against plates. Harry stares mutely at a plate of roast beef, as Harper prods him.

“Can you pass those potatoes?” she asks, gesturing to the dish to Harry’s right. He hands her the bowl, with an apologetic smile. She serves herself several spoonfuls before dumping a few onto his plate as well.

“Get started. You must be starving,” she says, concern in her deep blue eyes. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” Harry fibs and reaches for the roast beef. “Fine. Long day. Do you want some of this?”

* * *

The food had been delicious enough that Harry’s worries had faded after a few yorkshire puddings. He’d spent his time chatting with Harper and Madam Pomfrey, who sat two chairs over to his right. The treacle tarts were just as delicious as before and now Harry is sitting in a contented daze, sipping his coffee.

He catches sight of Stella on the other side of the table. Her dark eyes are focused on her own coffee cup,and her hands worry at the end of her long braid.

“Do you know her at all?” Harry asks Harper. She frowns, and tips a spoonful of sugar into her tea.

“Not really,” she says vaguely. “I ran into her in the North wing earlier. She went to Beauxbatons, I think? Her mother is French but that’s about all I know. She’s not very friendly, is she?”

Harry looks at Stella, alone between Filch and an empty chair, the missing Alchemy teacher’s spot.

“Maybe she’s just shy,” he suggests. “Not everyone is good with new people. I know I’m not.” Harper shrugs and swipes her finger around her pudding bowl before sticking the chocolate-mousse laden finger in her mouth.

“I guess,” she mumbles. “If you want, we can ask her to have afternoon tea or something tomorrow.”

“That’d be good,” Harry agrees. “I mean, we’ve got to stick together, don’t we?”

She removes the finger, looking vaguely bemused. “Is this your thing? Like, I’d have thought the whole rallying, inspiring the troops fuzziness was just a war gimmick but are you this nice all the time?” He flushes under her slightly pitying gaze.

“I just know what it’s like to not be good at making new friends,” he says defensively. “I got my best friends by accident, I suppose. And Ginny was Ron’s sister and I shared a dorm with Neville. Oh, and then Luna became one of us somehow...so I ended up with all these friends without trying and then I went out into the real world and it didn’t happen so easily. Approaching new people is hard.”

“Alright, alright, simmer down,” she says, mouth twitching in a badly restrained smile. “We’ll be buddies. I think she’s a little odd but maybe that goes with the job.” Harry thinks back to Professor Trelawney with her large spectacles and dramatic proclamations of death.

“It’s definitely a Divination thing,” he agrees. “Is she much of a seer?”

She wrinkles her nose, unsure. “I didn’t ask. I don’t believe much in all that stuff anyway. My future’s my own and I don’t think some soggy tea leaves are going to tell me any different.”

Harry declines to reply. He knows better than anyone that prophecies can be very real. As batty as Sybill Trelawny was, she actually was gifted. But he can understand not wanting to know, wanting some control of what’s in front of you. He’s had enough of other people trying to set out his life for him. He had loved and admired Dumbledore as much as you can for another person but there will always be that small part of him that resents being moved like a chess piece. He was eleven, for Merlin’s sake, not a soldier.

Someone yawns - he’s not sure who - and it starts a chain of people yawning and stretching. Minerva smiles and Harry doesn’t know how she resisted the impulse. It’s probably not done for the Headmistress to yawn. No matter who does it, it’s never a dignified motion.

“Shall we retire?” she says, looking around at the full, sleepy-eyed group. “We have all of this week to get to know each other further and prepare for the hoards of students about to enter our doors.” 

There’s a flurry of people rising from their chairs and Harry knocks back the last of his drink before doing the same. After a moment’s hesitation he reaches out and swipes the placard from the table and tucks it into a pocket. He wants a reminder of his first night back at Hogwarts.

People leave slowly in small clusters. Hagrid gives Harry a hug before heading out to his hut, but not before making Harry promise to come visit for tea one afternoon. He sees Stella quietly slip away out of the door before he can call out to her. No matter. They share a tower. He can climb up to the Divination classroom tomorrow and ask her if she wants to come for a cup of tea and some of Molly’s biscuits. 

“I’ll see you around?” Harper asks, when they reach the Entrance hall. She’ll take the stairs to the first floor and Harry will cross the quad to get to the DADA classrooms. He intends to shove a few boxes aside and fall into bed. The coffee is doing nothing to keep him awake.

“Probably tomorrow,” he tells her. “I’m going to unpack a bit more and make some lesson plans but do you want to come have tea in my office at about two? I’m going to ask Stella.”

“Tea for three at two then,” she says, with a grin. “I’ll see you, Harry.”

“Night!” he calls after her, as she trots up the stairs. He watches her blonde hair vanish from sight and turns around just in time to see a cloaked figure vanish down the stairs that lead to the kitchen.

There are two people in the castle who missed dinner and he’d place bets on the late night snacker being one of them. Either, the Alchemy teacher or the Potions teacher as the other two haven’t even arrived yet. He’s tempted to follow them down and introduce himself but the urge to climb into bed proves to be too strong. He wearily winds through the corridors, across the dark quad and into the quiet of his classroom. He has enough wits to lock the doors behind him and brush his teeth in his small bathroom, before he pulls off his robes and falls into bed, wearing nothing more than his underwear. He tugs off his glasses and drops them onto his bedside table before burrowing his head into his pillow. 

But he doesn’t fall asleep as quickly as he expected. Something about the different smells, the strange sounds of the castle are enough to remind him that this is something new he’s about to embark on. Maybe if he was in Gryffindor tower, he’d be able to sleep but his rooms still smell vaguely musty and unused. Nothing like his bedroom back at Grimmauld place.

Harry sighs and rolls over onto his back. He tries to summon back the sleepiness he’d felt at the Great Hall, the warm feeling of having just finished a large meal. But something prickles at the back of his mind until he’s forced to address it.

Minerva’s speech hadn’t sat quite right. While it was very similar to the speeches that Dumbledore had given, there was no need for it. There was no war anymore, no one trying to sow discord from inside or out. Why had Minerva felt the need to express her desire for them to come together, no matter what trials they may face?

“The past is the past,” Harry mumbles aloud to the empty room, echoing Minerva’s earlier words. What had she meant by that? Because if she meant the war, Harry had no problem putting that behind him. But somehow, he has the feeling she was referring to something else.

Frustrated, Harry punches his pillow and tries to settle down again. Would it be too much to ask for one year at Hogwarts without a mystery?


	2. Sacred new beginnings

“Do you know where I could find a boggart?” Harry wonders aloud, as he places his new box of quills into his top desk drawer. Harper doesn’t even look up from the copy of Witch Weekly that she’s reading. Apparently, hat pins are coming back into fashion and it’s commanded her complete attention ever since she sat down. She’s sprawled out in the comfy armchair that Harry has earmarked for guests or students, just in case anyone wants to visit his office. He didn’t quite intend for a thirty-something Muggle Studies professor to hog it but honestly, he likes the company. He’s never been good left to his own devices.

Yesterday she’d turned up after lunch to have a cup of tea and that chair has been claimed as her’s ever since. However, despite Harry’s best efforts, he hasn’t been able to pin down Stella. The Divination tower has been locked every time he’s tried...and she didn’t turn up to dinner yesterday. Neither did the mysterious potions professor. They’re so many teachers short and it’s starting to worry him a little. 

“Filch will probably know,” she says, turning the page. She’s wearing red converses under her robes. Hopefully McGonagall won’t spot them. “There’s bound to be one in a castle this big.”

“I suppose,” Harry says, reaching into the box. Several days into his time as a Hogwarts professor, he’s finally had to cave and unpack his new office. It hadn't seemed such a huge, dull task when his friends were there so he’d bribed Harper to come keep him company as he unpacks quills, parchment and the various muggle stationery that Hermione had packed for him. He’s not sure that he’ll need it all but he can appreciate her thoroughness. “I think it was Filch who found the one we used in our third year.”

“You had an actual boggart?” Harper says, finally tearing her eyes away from the magazine. “Your teacher must have been cool.”

“He was,” Harry says warmly. “The best. He taught me the Patronus charm and told me stories about my mum and dad.”

“Was?” Harper echoes, confused before her face morphs into an expression of understanding. “I’m sorry, is he…?” Harry swallows the lump in his throat, something that happens when - like all too often - he forgets that Remus or Fred or Sirius are dead. It’s gotten easier over time but it will never quite go away.

“He died during the war,” he says briefly. “So did his wife.”

“I’m sorry,” Harper says and Harry knows that she means it. They’ve spent a lot of time together over the last few days and he’s learnt that she comes from a muggle family in Oxford and that her wand is hawthorn with a dragon heartstring core. She is the youngest of three children and the only magical child. He also knows that her brother died several years ago and she still struggles to talk about it.

“We lost a lot of good people during the war,” Harry says heavily. So many good people and he misses every one of them every day. Some days it’s an easier burden to carry. Some days he drowns in grief.

“Do you blame yourself for it?” Harper asks, her sharp blue eyes curious. She’d known who Harry was right away, but thankfully, she has never pushed him for details. Harry wants to be just Harry here and thankfully, everyone has responded in kind. “For any of them?”

Harry has been through this question many times, most crucially in therapy. Luna had been the one to suggest it and share her own experiences of talking with someone about her mother’s death. To his surprise, it had helped. There was regret and guilt and resentment buried deep inside himself that he hadn’t realised was there. Left alone, it may have begun to fester and affect his life and relationships. But the realization that he did blame himself wasn’t an easy one to deal with. Logically, it wasn’t his fault. It was a war that was put into motion by events long before he was even born. Without Trelawney's prophecy, he would have grown up just another child in war time. Voldemort would have never known his name and would never have sought them out in Godric’s Hollow. 

But the fact that those events did happen does not mean any of the casualties are his fault, no matter how much he tries to take that burden on himself. Moody nor Cedric, not Tonks or Dumbledore, none of these deaths and the countless more besides are his fault. Working through Sirius’ death was the hardest. If he had just waited, or used the mirror...he should have known it was a trick. Losing his godfather still weighs heaviest because he can’t shake the feeling that if he had reacted differently that maybe Sirius wouldn’t have died.

“Sometimes,” Harry says, honestly. “I know it wasn’t really my fault. I tried my best to save everyone but I was just a kid. It’s just hard to not think that I should have done better, you know?”

“We all tried to protect the people we loved,” Harper says softly. “My family are muggles. They didn’t really understand what was going on and I was the only one who could protect them.”

“I’m sure you did your best,” Harry says, dropping a packet of post-it notes into the drawer. “My friend Hermione even wiped her parents’ memories...but I guess that was a bit extreme.” This causes Harper to crack a weak smile.

“To be fair, she’s your best friend,” she says. “I think she had to take that precaution. Who knows if the Death Eaters would have used her family against her?” 

“It’s weird that kids will be coming into the school this year who have no idea about the war,” Harry muses. “I mean, they didn't really live it, you know? To them, it’s just something that happened, an event in history.”

“Hopefully it’ll stay that way,” Harper says, folding up her magazine and dropping it onto his desk. “Although, you should probably prepare for all the questions you’re going to get.”

“Questions?” Harry asks. She gives a snort of amusement at his confused expression.

“Harry, you’re teaching their DADA class,” she says, voice heavy with meaning. “It’s like Beyoncé teaching music class. I know you forget sometimes, but you’re kind of a big deal.”

“I don’t want to be a big deal,'' Harry says mulishly, dropping into his desk chair. “I want to be a normal teacher.”

“You’re not going to get that,” she says, with a smirk. “You’re Harry Potter. You need to get used to the fact that students are going to ask you questions and they might not have a filter. You need to deal with it in a polite but vague sort of way.”

“I could just not deal with it?” Harry suggests but Harper shuts that down with a firm shake of her head.

“They’re kids, Harry,” she says bluntly. “Did teachers telling you that you couldn’t know about something ever stop you?”

Harry is struck by the memory of sitting at the table in Grimmauld Place, protesting that at fifteen he was old enough to join the war and fight. Molly’s protests certainly hadn’t slowed him down.

“Good point,” he says begrudgingly. “Shall we go get lunch?”

* * *

But lunch turns out to be more eventful than Harry is expecting. It’s Tuesday August 30th and in two days time, the Hogwarts express will arrive in Hogsmeade. Boats will bring the wide-eyed first years to the castle, while the rest will arrive by carriage, ready for the sorting. Harry can’t help but be excited now that he’s just about unpacked everything. He’s as prepared as he’s ever going to be.

But the castle is still short of several teachers. The Potions and Alchemy teachers haven’t turned up to any meals so far, much to Harry’s curiosity. All he knows is that Minerva gets very stiff when he asks her about it. Since then, all he can do is speculate.

Which is why he’s so surprised to see Minerva climbing the front steps into the entrance hall, followed by a strange man and a very familiar face.

“Neville!” Harry says in delight and rushes forward. Neville only just manages to drop his bag to the ground before Harry pulls him into a hug. It’s been months since he’s seen his friend in person, only having letters and postcards. 

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you smell ripe,” Harry says jokingly, when he steps back. Neville only laughs.

“It’s been a long trip back,” he says, sweeping his hair back off his forehead. “You would stink too if you’d been travelling for two days straight. I literally just got back from Brazil.” Despite the stench, Neville looks great. His hair could use a cut but the extra length actually looks good on him. Time in the sun has given him something of a tan and being active in the rainforests has added muscle to the growth spurt that Neville hit in their last year of school. 

“How are you back?” Harry asks suddenly, looking up at Minerva. Her mouth only twitches so Harry turns back to his friend. “I thought you were meant to be over there for a year. How are you here?”

“Well,” Neville says sheepishly. “It was great. We found some incredible rare magical plants and we’re working towards their preservation...but I missed home. And a few weeks ago, Minerva sent me a letter saying that Professor Sprout had retired…”

“You’re the Herbology professor!” Harry exclaims. “That’s fantastic!”

“Just a bit,” Neville says, with a smile. “It took a lot to get everything wrapped up and come back. I wasn't sure I’d make it in time for the start of the school year and I still have to have my belongings sent here from storage.”

“We’re very grateful for your effort,” Minerva says calmly. “When Pomona said she intended to leave, I couldn’t think of a better replacement.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” Harry says, in disbelief. Minerva’s face finally creases into a satisfied grin.

“I wasn’t entirely certain that Neville would be able to take the position until recently,” she says. “And when I did know there was too much to do for the start of term, as well as a few other...complications. Still, I know you will work well together and be able to support each other as new teachers.” Harry doesn’t miss the tension around her eyes as she says ‘complications’ and wonders exactly what she means by that. 

“And speaking of teachers, this is our Transfiguration professor, Jasper Sangrey,” she continues, gesturing to the dark-skinned man in the indigo robes besides her. He’s incredibly handsome, with short black hair and a wide mouth that immediately cracks into a grin. As Harry takes his hand, he notices the glint of a gold earring in his right ear.

“Good to meet you, Mr Potter,” he says warmly as he pumps Harry’s hand up and down enthusiastically. “We’re going to have a great year.”

“I hope so,” Harry says, unable to resist returning his infectious smile. “Minerva said that you were delayed due to a family crisis. I hope everything is alright?”

“Just my daughter,” Jasper says, ruefully shaking his head. “She’s young and a little too reckless on her broom. We had to whisk her to Mungo’s pretty sharpish. But she’s made of stern stuff and when I knew she was going to be alright, I had to rush here.”

“I thought those toy brooms didn’t get that high off the ground?” Minerva says curiously.

“Don’t get me started,” Jasper says, with a groan. “It could go six inches off the ground, instead of six feet, and she’d still have an accident. We’ve learnt to roll with it or we’d never leave the house again.”

A shadow falls over the group but it’s only Hagrid, easily carrying five or six bags. As Neville is clutching two large duffels, Harry can guess that they’re the rest of Jasper’s belongings. 

“You’ve only got two days before students arrive,” Harry says to Neville. “Will you be able to get everything sorted by then?”

“We can help,” pipes up Harper, who’s been standing quietly and watching the scene with interest this whole time. 

“Oh, Neville, this is Harper,” Harry says, keen to introduce one of his oldest friends to his newest. “She’s the Muggle Studies teacher and she’s new too.”

“Hi,” Neville says, offering her a hand. “Sorry about the dirt. But yeah, I’d appreciate any help I can get. Minerva says I can floo to Diagon Alley to get some crucial supplies. The big thing is if my luggage arrives in time.”

“I’ll make sure of it,” Minerva says crisply, and Harry doesn’t doubt her abilities when it comes to making sure everything runs to her schedule. “Now I suggest that we all get indoors and have some lunch. There’s a lot to be done.” 

“Where are we going?” Harry says and grabs one of Neville’s bags.

“My new office is in the greenhouses, but I think my rooms are actually in the East wing,” Neville says. “Although, I think when the mandrakes were nearly at maturity, Professor Sprout slept out there too.” 

Harry thinks back to their second year with a wince. He can imagine their former professor sleeping out amongst the plants, to be sure nothing happened to the mandrakes that would ensure everyone would be unpetrified. 

“East wing, it is,” Harry says, choosing to push the darker memories away. “We’ll dump your stuff, you can clean up and then we’ll eat. You must be starving.” 

It doesn’t take them long to locate the locked rooms that are meant to be Neville’s. One unlocking charm later, they’re looking around the dusty space. The main room looks to be an office as well, complete with a desk and bookshelves. However, unlike Harry’s office, it connects directly to a small kitchen that boasts several countertops, a stove, some cupboards and a steadily dripping sink. Investigation of the only connecting door reveals the bedroom, a bathroom and a wardrobe. 

“We’ll help you clean up, of course,” Harper says, swiping a finger across the dusty desk with a look of distaste. “I’m guessing Professor Sprout kept a lot of plants in here?”

She’s right - the space smells green, that soft, wet smell of vegetation. Even empty, the smell lingers. But Neville doesn’t seem to mind, rolling up his sleeves and pushing open the drapes with a cheerful look on his face.

“Suits me,” he says. “I’ve got a few cacti that would like this shelf. And Luna gave me a Moondew that needs bringing back to full health.” Despite the stench coming off Neville, Harry impulsively pulls his friend into another quick hug. 

“I’ve missed you,” he says. “And I know Luna has too. Have you told her?”

“Not yet,” Neville says, locating the sink in his kitchen - one that’s even smaller than Harry’s - and dunking his hands under the tap. It’s going to take a lot to remove the mud from under his nails. “Nor Ron or the others. It all happened so quickly.”

“So that’s two down, two to go,” Harper says thoughtfully, as Neville scrubs. When he turns confused eyes onto her, she grins.

“Our first night here, four teachers didn’t turn up to dinner,” she says. “Two hadn’t even arrived yet - you and Jasper - but we still haven’t seen the other two.”

“The potions teacher and the alchemy teacher,” Harry adds. “No idea why. Minerva won’t even tell us.”

“She gets very scrunchy when we try,” Harper agrees, surprising Harry. He hadn’t known that she’d also asked after their missing colleagues. She hasn’t exactly seemed overly keen to make friends. Other friends anyway. Maybe she’s just like that and will do so in her own time. 

“I’m sure there’s a good reason for it,” Neville says, shaking his hands dry. “Now can we go? This is my first Hogwarts lunch in nearly six years and I’m not going to waste a second.”

* * *

“Damn it,” Harry mutters, watching Filch’s coat vanish through the Great Hall doors. He’d been too slow to catch the caretaker before the end of lunch, and now he’s missed his chance. 

“Well, if you hadn’t eaten that last slice of cheesecake, maybe you’d have caught him,” Harper says, brutally. Harry sticks his tongue out at her but he’s got no one to blame but himself. 

“I’m going to run after him,” Harry decides, pushing back his chair. It makes an awkward scraping sound that causes several other professors to look up but Harry barely notices. He’s running out of time before term starts and the Fifth years are supposed to start with a Magical Creatures refresher for their OWLs.

“We’ll see you in Neville’s rooms after, yeah?” Harper checks, still lingering over her coffee. She never seems to be in a rush anywhere, so presumably her classroom is all in order. She seems perfectly happy to read Witch Weekly and clean up Neville’s new living space. “He’s got a lot to do to catch up in only a few days.” 

“I’ll be there,” Harry agrees. “It shouldn’t take me too long.” With a wave to Neville further down the table, Harry hurries down the Great Hall as fast as he dares. Lunch was fairly quiet, most teachers opting to eat in their own rooms this close to September First. They all have so much to do and Harry can see why the staff arrives early. 

He doesn’t see Filch anywhere outside the hall so he sets off towards the caretaker’s office, on the off-chance that he might find Filch there. But the dim little room is empty, the filing cabinets looking like tombstones in the dark. It’s changed very little since Harry was there in his second year. He wrinkles up his nose at the sardines smell and shuts the door quietly behind him.

Frowning, Harry decides to check a few spots where Filch is known to spend his time. Before the students arrive, there’s not as much for Filch to do to keep the castle neat and tidy. Even so, there’s a good chance that the caretaker might be polishing trophies or dusting portraits.

Harry is just retracing his steps back to the Great Hall when he catches a very familiar voice echoing off the walls. He stops dead, suddenly aware that two people, lost in conversation, are heading towards him. 

“I just don’t know what to do,” Minerva says, sounding wary. “He won’t be reasoned with. I was hoping that maybe…”

“Of course, of course,” rumbles a deep voice and it takes Harry a few moments to place it. It’s Jasper, the Transfigurations professor. “Maybe he’ll respond better to me.”

“I hope so,” Minerva sighs. In a few seconds, they’ll turn the corner and be right on top of Harry. Something in him - perhaps the lightning quick reflexes that served him so well as Seeker - knows that he must not be caught listening to their conversation. Quietly as he can, he opens the door behind him and slips inside, back into the fish-scented dark. He pushes the door just in time, leaving only a sliver so he can see Minerva and Jasper pause, just outside the door.

“I was hoping that this wouldn’t even be an issue,” Minerva says, shaking her head in frustration. “It’s been so long. We’re all adults, for Merlin’s sake! And yet, he’s being completely unreasonable!”

“He’s still young,” Jasper says, soothingly. “Besides, you were once his teacher. That may make it a little harder to get through to him.”

“I was hoping it would make him see sense,” Minerva says. There’s a few more lines in her forehead than normal. Whatever has been plaguing her the past few days has not been resolved. “But he’s just so stubborn. That certainly hasn’t changed since he was at school!”

“We may grow up but that doesn’t always change who we are inside,” Jasper says ruefully. “I will speak to him. Surely he can be made to see reason.”

“I hope so,” Minerva says, her mouth forming a tight little line. “We are two days away from the students arriving. There’s no time to replace him. If only I’d been able to tell him before he found out by other means…”

Harry waits, hardly daring to breathe as they move off again, presumably towards the Transfiguration classrooms. Once he can no longer hear their footsteps, he slips out of Filch’s office with a sigh of relief at the fresh air.

What was that all about? It’s been all too easy to see Minerva’s anxiety the last few days, but she hasn’t been forthcoming with the details. Even Aurora and Poppy - who Harry had tried to probe about it - hadn’t been able to answer him the cause behind their Headmistress’ troubles. Either because they didn’t think it was his business or that they genuinely don’t know.

Minerva must trust Jasper a great deal to confide in him like that, Harry thinks. And this other person that they were discussing must do as well, if Minerva thought that Jasper might make a difference.

Shaking off this new tidbit of information, that only adds to Harry’s confusion, he dashes off towards the Trophy room with the hope of finding Filch. He can worry about this little mystery when he gets back to Harper and Neville. 

It takes him a good twenty minutes and a hot, breathless dash over half the school before he finds Filch muttering about flooding in one of the bathrooms. It was only thanks to the acoustics off the tiles that Harry heard the man’s voice. 

It hadn’t been an easy conversation - Filch never being the most cooperative of men - and Harry was standing in about four inches of water but he had a skip in his step as he left regardless. He had a boggart. Filch knew of one in an empty classroom. In a wardrobe, to boot. Perfect.

He’s busy trying to shake water out of his shoes when he stumbles straight into someone.

“Shit!” Harry says, without thinking. He wobbles precariously on one wet foot when someone grabs hold of his forearms and pulls him back onto even footing. 

“Thanks,” Harry says gratefully, to the man who is both his hit-and-run victim and his rescuer. “I’m really sorry.”

The gentleman releases his grip on Harry’s arms and smiles nervously. “No problem, old chap. Happens to us all.” The words are tinged with the faintest accent, one that reminds Harry of Victor Krum.

“Wet foot,” Harry says, lamely sticking out a leg to demonstrate that he is soaked to just above the ankle. He immediately feels no better than an awkward thirteen year old. Merlin, you’d think he’d grow out of stupid small talk. 

“I see,” the man says, looking bemused. He’s an interesting looking fellow, with blood red robes and a ponytail of long mahogany hair. He’s certainly handsome but there’s a definite pallor to his skin and dark circles under his eyes. 

“Oh!” Harry says, putting the pieces together. “Are you the Alchemy teacher?”

“I am,” the man says, offering Harry a well manicured hand. “Kristopher Mortenson. And you are…?”

“Harry,” Harry says, taking the outstretched hand and firmly shaking it. “Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

“Of course, you’re new this year,” Kristopher says, interest lighting up his pale blue eyes. “Should you need any advice, I’d be happy to give it. I’ve been teaching for many years, although I am not often called to Hogwarts.”

“It’s an elective, right?” Harry says, trying in vain to remember when the classes had been held during his time at school. He knew that Alchemy was only offered if there was enough interest in it and was sometimes offered by the Potions master themselves.

“Yes, Hogwarts doesn’t offer it as standard, as Durmstrang does,” Kristopher explains. “It was actually during my time at school where I gained my interest in it.”

“Well, it’s good to have you here,” Harry says, gamely trying to create connections with another of his new colleagues. “I’m afraid that I don’t know much about Alchemy. I didn’t take it at school. I’m not even sure it was offered.”

“It was,” Kristopher says quietly. “I believe Professor Snape often taught it when he was here. However, Professor Slughorn did not. I was brought in to teach that year in 1996.”

“Oh,” Harry says, thrown. He hadn’t known that Snape had known Alchemy, or that he’d taught it. But he’d spent as little time on Potions as he’d been able, lacking any interest in it due to the unpleasant methods and attitude of the teacher. And his Sixth year had been so full of Quidditch, Ginny and trying to find out what he could about the Horcruxes that the whole year of classes feels like a blur.

“I didn’t realise,” Harry says, weakly. “Did you know Snape?”

“Only by name and reputation,” Kristopher says, with a weak smile. He’s tugging anxiously on his robe sleeves, which Harry hopes isn’t down to this conversation with him. “I saw him briefly during my time here but he was never...well, I’m sure you know all too well what he was like.”

“Sort of,” Harry responds. Yes, Snape was never very friendly but given what he knows now about the man, he feels a little uncomfortable badmouthing him. Surely, some day in the future he’ll be able to make a few jokes about their prickly Potions teacher. But right now, only a few years on, it feels like bad-mouthing the dead. 

“A very talented man,” Kristopher muses, with a touch of sadness. “But very lost.”

“Yes. I think so,” Harry agrees. Because what would Snape have achieved if he hadn’t been lost in bitterness and swayed by dark magic? If it hadn’t been for his mum, Lily, then Snape never would have returned to their side at all. It was only her loss that changed Snape and made him turn against Voldemort.

“Sometimes there is only grey,” Kristopher says, with a rueful smile, as though he can read Harry’s thoughts. “It’s all too easy once someone has died to remember them as a devil or a saint. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Harry, I must return to my classroom and you’d best dry that foot.” He gestures to the shoe that still squelches when Harry leans on it. 

“Thanks,” Harry says absently. “It was nice to meet you.”

“And you,” Kristopher says, taking a step past Harry. “And remember what I said. I’ve been teaching for nearly twenty years. I’d be more than happy to offer advice.”

Harry watches him vanish out of sight around a corner. Three down, he thinks. Hogwarts is a collection of interesting characters this year. Nice but...odd.

“I’m back!” Harry announces when he steps through the door to Neville’s rooms. Harper looks up from where she’s using a few careful cleaning charms on the windows and makes a face.

“What happened to you?” she asks, wrinkling up her nose at Harry’s wet trousers. Despite his best efforts, he’s still dripping water. Which isn’t good, as it will not only annoy Filch, but it’s undoing the good work that Neville and Harper have already achieved. The kitchen has been cleaned and the surfaces have been dusted. The desk looks to be in good condition now that it doesn’t have a thick layer of dust coating it. 

“Oh. Found Filch in a flooding bathroom. Overbalanced and put my left foot right in the worst of it.” With an exasperated sigh that reminds him strongly of Hermione, Harper waves her wand with a quick drying charm. A short burst of heat on his leg later, Harry once again has a dry foot.

“Thanks,” he says gratefully. He’d never been any good at the sort of spells you’d find useful around the house. If you wanted spells for duels, then he’s your guy. But warming charms have always escaped him.

Neville appears around the corner from one of the backrooms, with his sleeves rolled up and his wand stuck behind his ear. Presumably, they divided the work and he’s been busy trying to clear up what will be his bedroom.

“Hi Harry. Did it go alright?” he asks. The cleaning clearly hasn’t helped his overall appearance. There’s a large smudge of...something on his shirt and there’s a cobweb stuck in his hair.

“Fair. Oh, I got a boggart!” he says, much to Harper’s delight and Neville’s confusion.

“You’ve got a boggart?” Neville asks and Harry realises that maybe he forgot to clue his friend in to a few things. 

“I need one for my classes,” he explains, drawing out his own wand. He may not be great at cleaning charms but he can try. The sooner they get this space clean, the sooner Neville can stock it with the necessities. Neville will have to dash to Diagon Alley if he wants the best supplies for the school year. Hogsmeade just doesn’t have the variety of stock - Harry knows full well that the nearby Wizarding town just can’t compete with what Diagon Alley has to offer. It might have contributed to his own extreme level of purchasing. 

“Like Lupin,” Neville says, thoughtfully as he brushes the cobweb out of his hair.

“Yeah. Sorry, you probably don’t have the best memories of that lesson,” Harry says sheepishly. The lesson had seemed all fun and games at first, until Snape and the Dementors and the moon had shown that peoples’ fears can be very revealing. While Snape in that hat and handbag had been very funny, the fact that a student was terrified of a teacher distinctly wasn’t.

“Long time past now,” Neville says, briskly. Clearly his attitude to the past is the same as Harry’s. “But hey, have you thought about what your boggart might be now?”

“Still a Dementor, I’d guess,” Harry says, very aware of Harper opening the windows and very obviously trying to not look like she’s listening. She fails spectacularly, as this last statement causes her to drop the window she’s propping open with a loud clang.

“I’m sorry but did you say Dementor?” she cries, turning to face them with a look of shock. Neville looks dismayed.

“Can you not damage my windows?” he says, mournfully...not that Harper hears him.

“It’s not a big deal,” Harry says awkwardly. He’s become good friends with Harper so quickly that sometimes he forgets that part of his life might seem a little strange to her. After all, she wasn’t there for the Dementors, the giant chess set, riding a Dragon out of Gringotts…

Hmm. She probably wouldn’t believe that last one. 

“Not a big deal?” Harper squeaks. “Are you telling me you’ve come across a Dementor?” Neville and Harry share a look, before Neville holds up his hands.

“You tell her,” he says. “I’m going to unpack what luggage I’ve got.” With that, he vanishes back through the door, leaving Harry to explain.

“It was a thing. My third year,” Harry tries, doing his best not to laugh at her indignant face. “That was the year that…”

“Sirius Black escaped Azkaban, yes, I remember,” she says, tugging her blonde hair back out of her face. Despite the cleaning, she hasn’t bothered to tie it up and it floats like a soft, blonde cloud. She’s going to have fun washing the dust and grime out of it later, if she’s not careful. “And they put Dementors around the school. But they were supposed to be not allowed near any of the students!”

“It’s a really long story,” Harry says lamely.

“I feel like you have a lot of those,” Harper retorts, with a carefully arched eyebrow. “If you say that every time, we’ll never get anywhere. Spill, Potter.” With a groan, Harry perches himself on the desk.

“Fine. I was at Hagrid’s with a few friends and we ended up at the Whomping Willow. Uh, a lot of stuff happened and our professor - Professor Lupin, the one that I told you about? - was a werewolf and he’d forgotten to take his potion that made him docile. So he transformed and Sirius Black tried to fight him to keep him away from us. But he got hurt and I left Hermione and Ron and went after him. Only there were dementors everywhere.” 

Harper seems entirely unaware that her mouth is hanging open. “But how did you get away?” she asks. 

“Patronus charm. Somebody cast one...I don’t really remember who,” he mumbles vaguely. It seems easier than explaining the time turner incident and all the questions that come with it.

“That’s pretty intense,” Harper says, shaking her head. “Is that why you learnt the Patronus charm?”

“No, actually Remus taught me that because the Dementors came for me before,” Harry says. “On the train to Hogwarts when they were searching for Sirius and at a Quidditch match and…” he trails off, seeing Harper’s face. 

“You,” she says, slowly. “Haven't exactly had a normal life, have you?” 

“Understatement,” Harry says ruefully. “But the Dementors liked me more than most.”

“At least you won’t have to see one again any time soon,” Harper points out, finally turning back to the windows. This time she successfully pushes it open and latches it in place, letting the cool late summer air in. “They were removed from Azkaban, weren’t they?”

This was a controversial decision on behalf of Kingsley, even though it shouldn’t have been. While most of the Magical community approved, there was a small faction who feared that without the Dementors there would be even more breakouts, despite the constant presence of Aurors. They seemed to look past the breakouts - and the switch that the Crouches had made - that had happened while the Dementors were on guard. Not to mention their siding with Voldemort during the worst war the world had ever seen. Kingsley had made the right decision sending them away.

“I’m sure they’re still out there somewhere though,” Harry says aloud. “They had to have gone somewhere, right?” Harper shrugs.

“Probably. Hopefully the Ministry knows. I’d hate to think of someone stumbling across a dark corner of the world and finding an endless sea of Dementors.” She gives a violent shudder at the idea. “I can’t believe you’ve actually seen one. Was it as awful as they say?”

She can’t possibly know what this question does to Harry and maybe a few years ago, he’d have snapped at her for this innocently insensitive question. But he’s been through therapy and had time to work through his trauma. Besides, she can’t possibly know that he hears his mother’s dying moments whenever they get near. How cold it feels. The terror he felt when they were drawing in on him and a weak Sirius. 

“Yeah,” he says, finally. “It’s pretty bad. You feel so awful. Like you’ll never be happy again.”

“Hopefully you won’t have to feel like that ever again,” Harper says, optimistically. “None of us will.” Harry tries to summon a grin, despite the churning in his stomach. The past is being dragged up a lot today and he’s not sure that he likes it. 

“Onwards and upwards,” he says, trying in vain to match her upbeat tone. He fails somewhat and he can see it in her eyes. He doesn’t want to slip down into a funk, not now he has this new adventure in front of him. But maybe that’s to be expected. It’s big and it’s scary and he’s mostly doing this on his own. Never mind the familiar faces and the new friendly ones, he’s the one who has to step into the shoes of a professor and do it successfully. Save for walking into that dark forest to meet Voldemort, nearly everything he’s done has had someone -whether his friends or Dumbledore - at his back. 

But if he can go to meet the most feared wizard in history, then who’s to say he can’t do this?

“So,” he says, reaching for his wand again. “Shall we try and clean the kitchen?”

* * *

As they clean and dust, Harry finally tells an enraptured Neville and Harper about the strange encounters he had while looking for Filch. He’s not sure what they’re more interested in: Minerva’s odd behaviour or the enigmatic Alchemy teacher. Both stories have mystery and good gossip-potential. But the encounters only serve to intrigue them more. Kristopher’s frequent absences are still unexplained and there’s the big question of who exactly Minerva and Jasper were referring to. 

Harry doesn’t think that it’s a teacher. He’s racked his brain and came up with no reasonable candidate that would require Jasper’s intervention. Of course, they could mean Kristopher. After all, the quirky Alchemy teacher has not been seen in the three days since Harry arrived. It’s entirely possible he’s refusing to socialise with the others at meal times.

Of course, this is not the detail that interests his friends the most.

“I can’t believe he knew Snape,” Neville says, shaking his head. He’s putting away the few tins of food that came back from the rainforest with him. Harry makes a mental note to shift some of the overflow from his own kitchen into Neville’s. There are a great many things that Neville needs to get between now and September first and tea bags and an emergency tin of soup shouldn’t be priority on that list. Molly gave him so much, he has plenty to spare. “Or that we even had an Alchemy teacher at Hogwarts.”

“I learned Alchemy when I was here,” Harper pipes up. “I was always good at Potions so I decided it would be a good class to take. Well, it was!” she says defensively, seeing Harry and Neville’s faces. 

“Well, we sucked at Potions,” Harry says, with a shrug. “Snape was always terrifying and only favored the Slytherins anyway.”

“I thought you did it for Sixth year?” Neville says, looking surprised. “Weren’t you pretty good at it? I thought you won that potion. The luck one.”

Harper turns to him with a look of respect. “You won a bottle of Felix Felicis? Damn, Potter.”

“I’m sure that was a fluke,” Harry says hurriedly. Merlin, he doesn’t need a reputation for Potions, especially as it was all a lie. 

“You won it over Hermione so maybe it was a fluke,” Neville says, good-naturedly ignoring Harry’s middle finger. 

“Is she as clever as they say?” Harper asks curiously. “I mean, her chocolate frog card…” They’re nearly done and Neville’s rooms look far better than they did before. They’re still bare, lacking any personal touches, but no doubt Neville will fill it with pictures and books and plant life in no time at all. 

“Cleverer,” Neville and Harry say as one. Harper laughs with delight.

“I’ll have to meet her sometime then,” she says, with a flash of teeth. “You know, for some intelligent conversation.” This comment results in her being given the finger but it only makes her laugh more. It makes Harry amused at the contrast between Neville, who is easy-going and pragmatic, and Harper, who is not adverse to a sharp word and a bit of competition. Hermione might like her, he decides, and if they team up for pub quizzes, they’ll dominate.

“We should move if we want to be in time for dinner,” Harper says, when she’s done cackling, casting a quick tempus. “I should wash up.”

“Agreed,” Neville says. “I didn’t think there was so much dust in here until we had to shift it all. Thanks for your help, I wouldn’t have managed it so quickly otherwise.”

“Thank Harper,” Harry advises, because the witch had been the one to deftly clean windows and chase away cobwebs with a mere sweep of her wand. Harry had tried but had been left with a large brown spider laughing at his efforts. Or so he insisted. 

“I will gladly accept all praise,” Harper says, with a flick of her wild golden mane. “But I’m going to wash my face before I’m seen by other people. I’ll see you guys at the Great Hall?”

“See you in a minute,” Harry tells her, as she vanishes out the door. Neville waits until her robes are out of sight before he turns to Harry.

“You made a friend quickly,” he comments and Harry feels somewhat unnerved by the observation. Maybe not unnerved exactly...perhaps a little bit offended? 

“I suppose so,” he says, the words coming out more defensively than he means to. He can make friends...but no one seems to understand that it’s just a little bit harder when he’s never sure that people want to be friends with him and not the Boy-Who-Lived.

“Calm down,” Neville says mildly, stowing away his travelling bags into an available cupboard. “I was happy for you, that’s all. She seems nice enough. She didn’t have to help me but she did.”

“Yeah,” Harry says, before airing the thought he’s had since he first met Harper. “Bit sharp though, isn’t she?”

“Yeah, well,” Neville says, with an uncomfortable, small cough. “Ginny can be too, at times.”

“Fair,” acknowledges Harry as he finally pulls himself up from the chair he’d flopped in. “We should see if we can have a night down at the Three Broomsticks and then everyone can see you, and meet Harper.”

“Good idea,” Neville says, trying to stifle a yawn and failing. Even with portkeys and apparating, it must have been quite a trek for Neville to arrive back in the country on such short notice. “It’s been ages since we were all together.”

“Luna’s missed you. We all have,” Harry adds. Neville gives him a soft smile.

“I’ve missed you guys too. It was really hard some nights, being so homesick,” Neville muses, dropping with a grateful sigh onto one of the transfigured chairs. “I almost couldn’t believe my luck when McGonagall sent that letter, asking me to come teach.”

“How come you got a letter and I had to do that nerve-wracking interview?” Harry grumbles. Although he can’t imagine a world where Minerva McGonagall would even consider him being allowed any sort of special measures. Skeeter - and the rest of the press - would have a field day with that one. ‘IS THE HERO OF THE WIZARDING WORLD TOO ACCUSTOMED TO SPECIAL TREATMENT? INSIDE SOURCES AT HOGWARTS SAY SO!’ It would be on the front page, just above the adverts for Sleekeazy’s hair potions. 

“She interviewed me too. Sort of,” Neville amends. “I think via floo was probably less nerve-wracking than her frowning over her glasses at me in person.”

“No comment,” Harry says, reluctantly pulling himself up. He’s tired already but that doesn’t stop his stomach reminding him that lunch was actually a very long time ago. He’ll eat and then get a goodnight’s rest - he’s only got one more day to get ready for the new term. “I’d better go clean up. The sooner we eat, the sooner we can go to bed.”

“I hear that,” Neville says, yawning widely yet again. “I still have to meet the other teachers. Do you think Kristopher will come to dinner today?”

“Unsure,” Harry says, still not quite able to read the strange man he’d met earlier. Something in his head is ringing a little like deja vu...but he’s too tired to really think or worry about it. Maybe they’ve met before, maybe he did get a glimpse of the man during his sixth year. A tiny nagging feeling in his gut is hardly cause for concern. He’s been wrong before. 

“Maybe Stella will come too,” Harry says, thinking of yet another strange person. “I haven’t seen her since that first night.”

“It wouldn’t be Hogwarts without some slightly eccentric characters though, would it?” Neville points out. With a groan and a visible crick, Neville pulls himself up and studies his shirt, which is verging slightly more on grey-and-cobweb-y than white. “I’d better change and find some robes.”

“Probably for the best,” Harry says, with a grin. His friend possibly looks even worse than he did arriving after two days of travelling. “According to Harper, hat pins are in again. Not so sure about the cobwebs.” Harry can see the question on Neville’s face before he asks it. There’s something about the deep breath he takes, the way he bites his lip as he gears up to ask something he thinks isn’t his place.

“Harry?” he says and Harry gets a sinking feeling in his stomach. “You and Harper…”

“No,” Harry says bluntly, cutting him off. “Absolutely not.” Neville gawps.

“You don't know what I was going to say!” he protests, although there’s a faintly guilty flush to his cheeks. Harry restrains a groan, but only just. Questions about his love life twice in only three days. Merlin help him. 

“I do,” he says, ruthless. “Who have you been talking to? Is it Ron?” The flush deepens. Right. 

“Do not,” he says, taking a step closer to stare into Neville’s eyes...or tries to anyway. Neville’s a few inches taller and he actually has to look up. “Do not listen to Ron. It doesn’t matter if I get back with Ginny. It doesn’t matter if I decided to date Harper or anyone else. But I’ll do it in my own time!” This is clearly the wrong thing to say. Neville’s eyes take on a gleam of interest.

“Are you getting back together with…” he starts and Harry finally lets out a frustrated howl. 

“No, for the last time we’re not!” he bursts out. “I don’t want to date anyone. Okay?” Neville shrugs. If it had been anyone else, they probably would put this down to one of Harry’s wilder moods and treat him with kid gloves. But it’s Neville and he lets it all roll off his back. 

“Okay,” he says, with an easy shrug. “That sounds fair to me. But Ron…”

“I know what Ron’s been saying,” Harry says, giving Neville a smile to make up for the shouting. “And he shouldn’t. I know a lot of people want us to get back together.”

“But that’s what they want, not what you want,” Neville says, looking like he understands. But he would. He spent most of his life trying to live up to other people’s expectations and fearing he wouldn’t. Harry’s glad that Neville doesn’t have that anymore. Because he’s the first to say that it straight up sucks.

“Yeah,” Harry says quietly. “I’m good being by myself for a bit. Got enough to be going on with, you know?” Neville nods.

“Okay, no more questions. Just...Harper’s nice. You guys get along. But I suppose dating a fellow teacher isn’t the best idea, right?”

“This castle wouldn’t be big enough after a breakup,” Harry says, wincing. After Ginny, it seemed that the whole of England wasn’t big enough to escape their friends and family wanting to know why the relationship had fallen apart. And he knows all too well how the students - and staff - he are partial to a bit of gossip. 

A quick Tempus is enough to let him know that they’re about to be really late.

“I’ll see you downstairs, yeah?” he checks. “Try and get the cobwebs out of your hair!”

He hurries back towards the DADA classroom, feeling oddly jittery. You’d think he’d be used to people feeling like they have a right to discuss his life by now but he isn’t. And after everything, he still can’t help feeling uncomfortable with his friends discussing him, even if it’s in a well meaning way. He knows that Ron wants what’s best for him. He’s so happy with Hermione that he wants Harry to have the same too. 

“Everyone is too interested in my love life,” Harry mutters furiously, much to the shock of a nearby portrait. “I’m not going to fall in love.”

* * *

Heading into the Great Hall with Neville and Harper at his side almost makes him forget that any time has passed at all. If he doesn’t look behind him, he could be twelve years old again. But this time he’s twenty-five and he has Neville’s bulk and Harper’s blonde curls instead of Ron’s lanky frame and Hermione’s dark mane.

But still, it’s enough and a feeling of warmth spreads across his chest as they hurry to take their places at the main table. They’re definitely late and Mcgonagall gives them a stern look as they sheepishly take their seats.

“Now that everyone is here,” she says, scanning her fellow teachers carefully. Stella is here, her long sleek hair pulled back into a bun today and even Kristopher has made it down, looking even paler under the brightness of the candles and stars. “We only have two days to go. I hope you’re all very prepared and ready to welcome the students through those doors. Tomorrow is your final day to tidy your classrooms, stock cupboards and prepare lesson plans. Hogwarts is a pinnacle of teaching in the magical community and I have no intention of that changing any time soon!” With that fun little pep talk over, she claps her hands and the plates are overflowing with food. Harry immediately reaches for the beef and begins loading his plate.

“They certainly look like they’re conspiring,” Harper whispers suddenly and Harry turns to stare at her. She nods furiously at behind him and he twists to see Minerva and Jasper speaking in hushed tones. She’s put food on her plate but she seems quite content to move it around with her fork. 

“I don’t know about conspiring,” Harry responds, but it’s true. No one else hasn’t taken notice, too interested in the food and the chance to chat with their fellow teachers but Minerva and Jasper have closed themselves off to the others. Jasper looks more troubled than he had earlier. Something must have gone wrong.

“I guess whoever he wanted to talk to wasn’t exactly happy about it,” Harry guesses. Harper takes a baked potato and proceeds to cover it in butter.

“Hey, we got so distracted with the whole...dementor thing,” she says, dropping her voice on the word as though she might summon one by saying the name. “That we never really stopped to think about what they were so worried about.”

“I thought it might be Kristopher,” Harry says. But Kristopher is here and chatting quite happily with Flitwick. He isn’t eating much however, having only a few pieces of beef and a bowl of soup in front of him.

“Filch perhaps?” Harper guesses but Harry dismisses it right away. Filch is like the spiders or the cranky old portraits...part of the castle. The miserable old man is liked by nobody but Hogwarts must be as home to him as it is to Harry. 

“I don’t think he’d threaten to quit,” Harry responds. Indeed, the caretaker is at the other end of the table, eating a sprout. Occasionally however, a handful of food makes its way under the table. Harry wonders if Minerva knows about it and decides that she probably does. Mrs Norris sends more time sleeping than lurking these days and he doubts his old professor would complain about a little old cat being fed chicken.

“Potions then,” Harper decides, filling her fork with buttery potato. 

“Must be,” Harry agrees and wonders for the hundredth time about the missing professor. Slughorn had held the position for a few more years after Harry had left, if only to help with the rebuild and lend some stability to the school. For all his faults, the old man wasn’t made of bad stuff.

“We could follow him,” Harper suggests, eyes alight with mischief. “After.” Harry looks nervously down the table at the Transfiguration teacher.

“That feels a bit wrong,” he says and the words feel strange. After all, he spent his school years lurking and watching and generally suspecting everyone of being up to no good. But Jasper isn’t one of those people and he feels a bit off about it. Harpers rolls her eyes.

“Alright then,” she sighs. “But aren’t you a bit curious?”

Harry chews on a large piece of carrot so he doesn’t have to answer. And to his eternal annoyance, the answer is definitely a yes.

He shouldn’t be. He should know to leave well enough alone of other people’s business. A child wandering the castle, looking to uncover wrongdoing is one thing. He’s a grown man for Merlin’s sake. He shouldn’t want to stoop to old habits of hiding behind corners to find out things people don’t want him to know.

But he does want to and it’s grating.

The dinner plates eventually give way to dessert and then to yawns, as the full and sleepy teachers pull themselves up to go to bed. Harry’s eyes are scratchy with tiredness...or perhaps with all of the dust they found in Neville’s room.

“I’ve got to floo to Diagon alley tomorrow,” Neville says, through a particularly wide yawn. “Are either of you free to come with me?” Harper perks up.

“I can, if you need someone to carry stuff,” she says. “Or for company. I don’t have a lot left to do.” Harry thinks to his classroom and what he has left to do.

“I might be able to as well,” he hedges. “I’ll check. What time are you going?”

“Before lunch,” Neville says. “Actually, as early as possible, without me having to get out of bed too soon. I’ve got way too much to do.” The castle feels a little cool with the setting sun and Harry has to hold back a shiver. It’s too early for a September chill. He hopes that the summer can last a little longer.

“We’ll help,” Harry promises again. He and Harper are mostly done and he can spare a little time helping Neville get ready. But tomorrow, after a long, deep sleep. 

The main entrance is quiet, the three of them being the only ones using this way as means to get back. Harper will climb the stairs to return to her quarters and Harry and Neville will cross the quad. It would be shorter for Neville to slip out of the Great Hall another way to the East wing but Harry can understand not wanting to separate. It’s comfortable, the three of them, and Harry can tell that it’s going to be a good year.

But Harper stops dead, just short of the stairs leading down to the kitchens.

“Can you hear that?” she hisses, tilting her head towards whatever sound she can hear. Neville and Harry look at each other in confusion.

“No,” Harry says bluntly and then presses a hand to his ear. “Oh, wait, yes I can! It’s my bed calling to me.” Harper’s expression is a sight and she merely stalks off towards the stairs, without looking behind her to see if they’re following.

Neville and Harry exchanged a silent but emphatic conversation before Harry gives a reluctant huff and sets off after her. Just in case she happens to be hearing a giant snake in the pipes. Unlikely to happen twice but Harry wouldn’t trust Salazar Slytherin to not have another murdering snake up his sleeve.

But as they descend the staircase to the pear painting, Harry hears what she did. Voices. Raised, angry voices.

“I told you I heard something,” Harper says, looking victorious and far too smug. Harry rolls his eyes. 

“Fine,” he grumbles. “But who is it?”

The voices are both male and as they get closer, it becomes clearer that only one of them is yelling. The second voice is indeed raised but only to be heard over the racket that the first voice is making. 

“No one is saying that,” the second voice cajoles and without the racket echoing off the stone walls, Harry recognises it as Jasper’s smooth, deep tones. The other voice responds, but quieter and still distinctly frosty. Something about the cool elegance makes a bell go off in Harry’s head. He’s heard that voice before.

Harper has hit the bottom step before he can tell her to stop and bounds ahead, down the corridor. They hurry after her - clearly she doesn’t quite have the practice they have, or the knowledge to hide around a corner where they can’t see you.

But it's not Harper Harry should be worried about. Because once the arguing pair comes into full view, Harry stops dead in his tracks at the aristocratic forehead and piercing grey eyes that he knows so well.

“Malfoy?” he says and his childhood enemy turns to face him for the first time in nearly seven years.


End file.
